


Lover

by badfaithed



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:06:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21545755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badfaithed/pseuds/badfaithed
Summary: He’s golden-grace and divine fury incarnate, but when he steps through this door into the space that you share together, careless and carefree, red-brown eyes softening in you, he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	Lover

He lies beside you, turned on his side, right hand curled around your wrist, encircling it and holding it gently in a gesture of both possessiveness and certainty. He’s golden-grace and divine fury incarnate, but when he steps through this door into the space that you share together, careless and care _free_ , red-brown eyes softening in you, he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

You blink at him slowly and run an unconscious thumb across his cheek, his skin warm under yours. His lashes are long and feminine, flowering into spidery shadows that bloom and set your heart on fire. His eyebrows aren’t knitted together, loosened in sleep into relaxation. His lips are slightly open, twitching slightly as he dreams. You wonder absently at what his mind is conjuring, but you know it to be pleasant, so you don’t mind it.

It’s funny. He’s usually a light (and little) sleeper, drifting between wakefulness and a halfhearted dozing, but on some steel-grey days when his cynicism leaks into every one of his darting glances and skittish movements, you can coax him to just put everything down for once, and he really rests. At 5am, everything is gentler in the half-light. You can pretend that he isn’t knife-sharp and ruthless now, but it wouldn’t matter even if the morning comes and the mirage melts into dew, because you love him for it, every side and fragment that lies dormant within him.

You’re someone who enjoys swinging out into early mornings and he’s born to be nocturnal, living for long nights and starry skies and the blue glow of his laptop, but you both compromise. Some days you stay up studying the metallurgy of his golden focus as he taps away at his work and talk lowly to him when he’s overwhelmed; other days he stands drowsy beside you, gazing out into the sunrise, hand tight in yours.

You shift a little, taking care not to rustle the sheets. His breath hums a steady euphony beside you, chest rising and falling under the thin fabric of his shirt. You look up at the ceiling and can’t help the sides of your lips tugging upwards. It was originally bare, but now it is dotted with glow-in-the-dark stars meant for kids. He’d bought a bag of them back after you watched Le Petit Prince once, and you'd stuck them up together one lazy afternoon when your responsibilities deserted them. Your smile grows until it’s a full-blown grin; if he was awake, he’d poke your nose and scrunch up his face and say “stupid,” but his eyes would give his affection away.

You think back how on how this happened. How you two had – not clicked, it took time – eventually came together, first filled with doubtful glares hidden under double entendre and hasty fingers hiding too many truths, then later with ugly crying (he’d call it that, but you never quite thought so) and interlocking hands, rough and harsh from overuse but raw and tender from emotionality. It’s been a journey, and at one point you might’ve regretted it, but now you can think of nothing better, really. 

Part of you wants to doze off before the morning rolls in, but the silver-peace of his sleep holds you in the muted colors of the room. You just want to capture this moment in your head before it goes. He is no Mona Lisa, but he’s better, and you want, just a little bit, to proclaim it from the rooftops. The clock on the shelf ticks a low ebbing stream of seconds, but the sound dies away in your ears. This moment is memorable in its sheer goodness, and you are infinite – infinitely glad, infinitely alive, and infinitely in love.

Later his copper-light gemstone eyes slide open and he smiles lazily at you. Already his gaze is sharp with the weathering of many nights and the relentless run of sarcasm, but his mouth is gentle and slow and with chaste hands, you ground him into reality, one that is somehow, after it all, _kind._

**Author's Note:**

> thank you very much for reading! this is just something self-indulgent that i wrote on a whim; i'd be happy if you enjoyed it!


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